Sons, We Have Our Land To Plough! Poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi

When they put the thilak on your foreheads,
They hoped that you would return intact,
But you stayed back wherever you went,
Picking up the concubines of native tribes.

Leaving them, the single mothers back on our lands,
Raising the children in hardship with the help,
Of relatives and friends, shame on seafarer,
Tamils of Chola Dynasty, Shame on you.

And the descendant of your ill bred notoriety,
In all countries of South East Asia and in India,
They had bred the sons, who like to forget,
All woes and troubles in hard liquor and whores.

Still don't know how to tame the poverty,
Bulls that ruin our hay less field of hearts,
Still don't know how to pull the fangs of,
Insufficiency to be sufficient and happy.

Still don't know how to get water,
From the falls that are not very far,
Still believe that their ancestral fathers,
Would return with ship loads of golden feathers.

As we are the descendant of the single mothers,
Who were abandoned by the cowards,
Who called themselves as the valiants,
Children of slum, huts and poverty.

Wake up! we are too late already,
To catch the fast train of prosperity,
We are too slow to look into nasty,
Ideology that helps the hypocrisy.

We are too drowsy to identity,
That we have almost lost my modesty,
Pick up the loin cloth and tie it tightly,
We have no time to remain on the laps,
Of weeping mother and sweet talking spouse.

We have to plough our own land,
To grow our own prosperity plants.